Work Text:
There was a man outside Weather’s apartment one night after he’d come home from a factory job. He found him with his knees hugged to his chest, not moving at all, sheltered from the pitter-patter of light rain only by his lengthy, violet-colored hair. It fanned out around him all tangled and matted.
Weather Report wasn’t the type to take in stray cats, but this one he did.
That same night he washed him up in the shower, using both of his full bottles of conditioner that only made it halfway down the man’s incredible hair; he towel-dried him and brushed through the heavy volume of purple curls until all the knots were gone. The man didn’t say a single word, and his expressions were twofold: completely blank or full of deadly disdain.
Weather didn’t think it important to speak, either. He didn’t know who the man was or how he found him, or how they might even be connected. The man didn’t have a Stand but the ancient, battered jewels in his crown and the horns protruding from his head confirmed that he was no mere human.
Two weeks passed before the man began to respond to his situation. If Weather offered him food, he refused with a shake of his head, repeating the action when asked if he was hungry. When Weather wasn’t home, he’d wander about the apartment and sometimes go through his things. But Weather hadn’t had much to take home with him from prison, so it didn’t bother him when toiletries were found out of order or fallen off the shelves in the closet.
When the man finally spoke on a Saturday Weather had off, his voice bellowed out much deeper than Weather imagined it would be. All he had asked for was Weather’s name, which Weather provided indifferently. The man didn’t bother to share his own.
In a more recent bizarre turn of events, however, the man began to show physical affection. When Weather woke up one morning Kars was on his bed, not the air mattress, and he was curled up against his back. Maybe he is a cat, Weather thought. But just a few days later the man became bolder in his advances, wrapping his arms around Weather when they sat on the couch watching television or lying in his lap, and sometimes those clawed hands would rest on his biceps as he made breakfast or dinner. Dark violet eyes watched on, always curious as if he’d never experienced everyday human life before.
This night is no different, except that Weather comes home a little later than usual. The man is already waiting on his bed, tracing the seams of the comforter with his sharp nails. When Weather enters he springs up, though his eagerly wide eyes narrow to a squint too soon. Weather shakes his head and shrugs off his coat, letting it fall to the floor as he props up pillows to lean against.
He lay at an angle on the bed, sighing at the comfort of soft plush on his back. Not a second passes before the man is on him, his long hair fanning out over Weather’s stomach and legs. The warmth is welcome and spreads throughout Weather’s body after a long workday. He closes his eyes and brings one hand up behind his head, the other resting by the man’s shoulder.
But he feels a large hand take hold that pulls his arm past the rounded muscle, setting it just above the man’s breast. He smiles a little and runs his fingers over dark, silky skin that tingles on his palm. The abyss of sleep woos him sweetly.
“…name,” he whispers.
The man turns his head. “Did you… say something?”
“Name,” Weather repeats. He’s already half-asleep, though he sits up from the pillows. “What’s your name?”
His voice is quiet, something he still can’t help in most situations. He isn’t sure the man heard him, so he lays back down and closes his eyes. Weather’s chest heaves like a rolling hill with each breath, his heart beating to a stormy rhythm.
Then the man says, “Kars. My name is Kars.”
“Kars…”
The clouds outside pitter-patter with soft rain just like the night Weather found him outside. Kars, he repeats in his mind, Kars, Kars, Kars.